Technically
by clair beaubien
Summary: Dean and Sam meet young John ...again, I know... not finished
1. Chapter 1

Sam and Dean were taking a minute to just sit and relax and _breathe_ in a deserted picnic area in an empty rest stop on sparsely populated interstate. They were at a picnic table, one on either side, eating sandwiches and drinking Cokes, hoping for a minute of peace in between hunting and being hunted.

Suddenly -

"There you are. I can't _tell_ you how long I had to look for you. All right then, no time to waste. You've got work to do."

- suddenly, _Balthazar_ was there.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Dean asked. "Aren't you _dead?_"

"Lovely to see you, too." Balthazar answered him. "Oh, and - _thank you for ruining the end of the story for me. _Now, children, if you'll pack away your lunch boxes and juice canisters, we have work to do. Well - _you_ have work to do. I've already done more than my share. _Naturally."_

"But - but - how are you alive?" Sam asked. "Cas - Cas -"

"We thought Cas must've used your guts for wallpaper." Dean supplied.

"Yes, lovely chatting old times over with you - but we must go _now."_

"Go where?" Sam asked.

"Go _why_?" Dean echoed.

"Well, aren't we Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum." Balthazar said. "If I had the time to explain everything - well, I probably still wouldn't want to. So - shall we?"

He reached out to whammy them both and they ended up - right where they were, at the picnic table, next to the Impala, at the lonely rest stop.

"Think you might want to change the batteries in that jet pack." Dean said.

"_Really_." Balthazar retorted. "Perhaps you'd like to take one more _teeny_ look around."

They looked. Sam looked one way and Dean looked the other way. Then they looked at each other. Then they looked at Balthazar.

"_And?"_

"_And…that."_ Balthazar pointed down to the far end of the parking area. They turned to look again, and there, all of a sudden, there was another man down there. He was walking toward them and Sam pushed to his feet.

"_Dad?"_

It was. _Young_ Dad, John, but _Dad_ nonetheless.

Dean turned to Balthazar.

"What the hell is going on?" He demanded. "Why is he here?"

"Technically, …" Balthazar answered, low and measured. "_You are all three here to save a life."_

And then he was gone.

to be continued


	2. Chapter 2

Sam and Dean walked toward John as he continued to walk toward them. They didn't know what to expect. He wasn't going to remember them, more than likely. Michael had said he'd wipe John & Mary's memories after their last trip down memory lane. So, he wasn't going to remember them. Other than that, they didn't know what to expect.

When they were just a few feet apart, they all stopped walking. John pushed his hands into the pockets of his denim jacket and gave them a look.

"Angels, hunh?" He asked. He sounded disappointed, not freaked.

Dean and Sam exchanged a look. Neither one was too sure how free they should be with their information.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked.

"Well, unless the wings were a parlor trick, the guy who brought me here was an _angel_? He said he knew you two."

"Well…" Sam started after getting a sideways nod from Dean. "We _do…_" But that was as far as he got when John interrupted.

"He also said that you two are my _sons._"

Still, he didn't sound freaked. He sounded like _Dad_, his tone of voice telling them in no uncertain terms that they were expected to confirm something he already knew. And when Dean started to say, "_Technically_…." John arched an eyebrow and gave them Dad's patented '_you are not just about to lie to me'_ look.

"Yeah. Yes. We are." Sam answered then. "We're your sons. This is Dean, and I'm Sam."

John smiled a little when Sam said their names.

"You take after your Mom's side of the family. In looks anyway. In attitude, you already got the old man beat by a mile."

"Yeah, tell us about it." Dean said.

"You heard about him, hunh?"

"Pfft - we did more than _hear _about him."

"Dean - maybe we shouldn't - " Sam cast glances between Dean and John. "Maybe we aren't supposed to be telling him - _things_."

John folded his arms and gave him a level stare. "And maybe you _are._"

Sam gave John a look that seemed to be half scowl and half wistful. Dean took a long moment to consider and then gave a shrug toward the table they'd just stood up from.

"Why don't we take a seat? Compare notes."

John followed them the few feet back to the table. He sat on one side and Dean sat on the other, and Sam sat on the far side of Dean, far away from John.

"Well, I know _where_ we are." John said, looking around. "Any idea _when_ we are?"

"Not a clue." Dean answered. "We were just sitting here, having some lunch, when our feathered friend showed up out of nowhere and zapped us - well, right where we were anyway."

"He said we're here to save a life." Sam said to John from his end of the table. "Are you okay?"

"Me? Yeah. Fine. He told me the same thing. Are you boys okay?"

Dean laughed, both at how far from 'okay' they were, and at having Kid-as-Dad call _them_ 'boys'.

"Let's just say, it hasn't been our year." He said. "For like - a _millennium_."

"What about - what about -." Sam started but couldn't finish.

"Your Mom?" John said.

Sam nodded, swallowed, and nodded again. He got a pinched look between his eyebrows, and Dean leaned back away from the table, enough to lay a quick, strong hand on Sam's back. John obviously saw the gesture, but he only answered the question.

"She's okay. At least _Feathers_ said she was. I was at work when he showed up. Your Mom was at home. He said he'd send me back right when I left so nobody would notice anything. It work that way for you?"

"Yeah." Dean said and barely kept himself from rolling his eyes. It wasn't like there were that many people left to notice where - or when - they were.

"What - what year were you - were you in?" Sam asked then.

"Late nineteen seventy-eight. You?"

"Late two thousand eleven." Dean answered him.

"_Wow_. Wasn't the world supposed to end in the year 2000?"

"Came close in 2009, let me tell you." Dean said. He gave a glance to Sam, who stared at the picnic table top, with his hands in his lap and his shoulders hunched. "But I don't think we want to talk about _that_ right now."

"So…" John started again. "You did more than _hear_ about Mary's father? You didn't actually get to _meet_ him, did you? Did _Feathers_ slingshot him someplace too?"

"We're a little fuzzy on _all_ the details," Dean said. "But somebody bungeed him out of the Great Beyond and we got to spend a little _quality time_ with him."

"_Dean - please._" Sam said.

John stiffened.

"_What? What did he do to you? Did he get you hurt?"_

Sam said "No," just as Dean said, "Yes." Then Dean said, "_**Yes**__,_" and Sam said nothing.

"_Somebody_ better start talking." John said.

Dean looked at Sam who only shook his head and looked away.

"Sam was missing, for like a year." Dean said. "He had a kind of - _amnesia_. Samuel knew, he was with Sam, and he knew I was out there and that I was looking for him, but he never told me, never got in touch with me at all. He never even _tried_. He just let Sam - _suffer._"

Sam listened and shook his head again at the lie knotted around the truth tangled around his life.

"Are you okay?" He heard John ask, and he waited for Dean to answer the question. But Dean didn't say anything and then John said, "_**SAM,**_" and Sam turned back to find John staring right at him. "_Answer me_ - are you _okay_?"

He sounded concerned. He sounded scared. He sounded so much like _Dad_ that Sam got up from the picnic table and hurried away without so much as a word of explanation.

to be continued


	3. Chapter 3

John and Dean watched Sam hurry from the picnic area into the thinly wooded area that bounded a sluggish stream.

"We don't get along, hunh?" John asked. "He doesn't like me much?"

Dean laughed at that.

"Sam _loves_ you. He loves you so much there isn't a word big enough to accurately describe _how much_ he loves you. I mean - there'll be a few hard years there when he's a teenager, but_ - he loves you_."

John seemed to accept that.

"So, why the disappearing act?"

"Rules of the game." Dean shrugged. "When this is over, your memory gets wiped. He doesn't want to get close to something that's not going to last."

"Yeah, _Feathers_ told me that too." John said. "So if none of us is going to remember anything, what difference does it make?"

"Y_ou_ get your memory wiped." Dean looked back to where he could see Sam sitting down against a tree. "_We_ don't get to forget."

"Why not?"

And Dean had to sigh.

"_Damned if I know." _

John looked over to where Sam was just visible. Then he looked back at Dean.

"What about you and me? How are _your_ teenage years?"

"We're pretty good, actually. We both like cars and rock music and getting the job done. I mean - you turn out to be something of an _autocrat,_ every once in a while." Dean smiled to take the sting out of it. "But I always knew you did what you did to protect us, to take care of us. Because you loved us.No, you and me - we're good."

"But - me and Sam?"

"Sam - he's different. Me - I do something stupid and get myself hurt and you take my head off while you're bandaging me up, and I'm okay with it. Sammy -" Dean looked back again to his brother. "Sammy needs a little less taking his head off and a little more bandaging up. And not even the real kind of -" Dean gestured like he was wrapping his hand in a bandage.

John didn't say anything for a minute or so. He looked like he was thinking hard about things.

"So - what happened with Samuel?" He asked after those couple of minutes. "You got Sam back. Where's the old man?"

"He got sent back to the Great Beyond."

"How?"

Dean considered what he could say, what he _should_ say. Whatever he did tell him, John wouldn't remember anything, but for _this_ present, he'd _know. _

It turned out that his silence was enough.

"Sam 'sent him back'?" John asked.

"Yeah. Uh – yeah. Samuel – he was threatening Sam. Sam had no choice. He shot him."

John nodded, but didn't say anything else about it.

"And Sam's amnesia?"

"We - uh - we got that taken care of. He doesn't have that anymore."

"_Right."_ John said, giving Dean Dad's '_that's crap and we both know it'_ look.

"He doesn't have it _much_, anymore." Dean said, then. "He blanks out, sometimes. But he always gets himself back."

"And is he okay? And are _you_ okay?" John asked, back to back. "And don't give me _crap_ - give me the truth the _first_ time."

"_Yessir."_ Dean said, and smiled, only half kidding with that answer. "We're okay." He said then, seriously. "We've taken some knocks, but we always do. Somehow we always manage to keep going."

"Huh - stubborn like your Mom, then."

"Oh - I'm pretty sure we get it from more than just _Mom._ Sam has turned out to be almost 100% you._" _

That made John's expression darken.

"I hope not. I hope he's not _all_ like me. There's a lot about me I hope neither of you boys get a part of. You'd do better to have more of your Mom in you than of me."

"I'd say we got a lot of her too." Dean told him, and thought, _more than she ever wanted us to_. "What is it of _you_ that you don't want us to have?"

John shook his head then gave a short laugh of his own.

"If you don't know by now, better I don't tell you." He said. He gestured to the Impala. "So - the car looks good.

You're taking good care of it."

"She's my baby." Dean bragged. He wondered if John was deliberately changing the subject. "Maybe we should drag Sam's ass back here and take her for a spin."

John looked beyond Dean again, back to where Sam was still sitting at the bottom of a tree.

"Would he come back? _Will_ he come back?"

"Yeah, after he thinks about things awhile. Sam's a thinker. He's always been a quiet kid. I mean – don't get me wrong. If something needs doing, he gets it done. If there's trouble, trust me, you don't want to be what Sam is pissed at. But if he can think about something – he will. He just needs to – to get things in order. To get things to make sense."

"Well, I hope this'll make sense to him," John said and stood up from the table. "I'm going to go talk to him."

To be continued


	4. Chapter 4

Young John would not leave me alone until I wrote this chapter. I make no promises (or threats!) for any further fics.

* * *

Sam picked the biggest tree he could find to sit down against that still wasn't big enough and listened to Dean and Dad - _John_ - talking at the picnic table. He couldn't understand the words, but he could hear them, hear the pitch and modulation and timbre of their voices, and except for the fact that John sounded younger than Dean, Sam wouldn't have been able to tell them apart.

And then the voices stopped and footsteps approached.

_Not Dean's footsteps. _

"Hey." John appeared around the not-big-enough tree.

"Hey," was all Sam could answer. There was no lag in the conversation though, John gestured out to the slow-moving stream.

"Gee whiz, I've seen more forceful currents coming out of a sprung radiator."

Sam hmm'd a noncommittal '_Yeah_…' and resisted the urge to get to his feet and go anywhere else. He dug his thumb into his scarred palm. He knew he wasn't hallucinating John, but the pain and pressure reassured him anyway. It reminded him that Dean was nearby.

Especially when John sat down next to him.

"So - are you okay?" John asked again.

"I'm fine."

It was an automatic answer. It was the standard answer. The _hardly-ever-not-taken-at-face-value-by-Dad_ answer.

"Are you really going to lie to me?" John-not-Dad asked.

Sam looked at him, tried to look at him, but he only glanced at him then looked down at his thumb still gripped into his palm.

"I'm fine."

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw John looking down, at his hands probably.

"You hurt your thumb?" He asked.

"_No." _

From Dad, Sam would've expected a grump or a huff if he didn't like Sam's tone, or a rough hand taking hold of his own for a look, up close and personal, if he just didn't like the answer in general.

John just looked at Sam's hands for a few seconds longer before looking up again.

"Dean said your amnesia is still giving you grief? There isn't anything they can do for that?"

"I'm fine." And still the answer came out automatically.

"Look, I'm not going away." John said with a slight smile and shake of his head. "So you might as well start talking to me."

"Yes, you are going away." Sam said. "When all this is over, you're going away."

John did huff then. He leaned forward and rested his arms on his bent knees.

"I'm here, _now. _And I want to know how you are."

"Why?"

"_Why_? Because I'm your father."

"No, you're not." Sam said. "You're the guy who's going to _become_ my father. That's all."

Dad would've fired back instantly, a volley of '_watch your mouth'_ and '_I'm your father'_ and '_because I say so'_. For a second or two, Sam thought John-not-Dad was going to say something, he thought he recognized the deep breath, the way he sat up slightly and looked at Sam like he _damn well_ was going to say something.

But John-not-Dad frowned and relaxed, and let the deep breath out again.

"Whatever I am, whatever I'm _going_ to be, I'm here _now_, and I want to know how you _really _are."

Sam shook his head and looked away. How he _really_ was? That answer was two hundred years long, written in fire and blood and bone and misery. And that was the _short_ answer.

"So -." John-not-Dad said when Sam still didn't answer. "Not that good, hunh?"

"I'm dealing." Sam said. He barely managed to keep himself from digging harder into his scar, and only scrubbed his thumb over his palm, instead.

"What can I do?"

"_Nothing_." But Sam knew that the answer came out too fast and maybe sounded too adamant. "There's nothing anyone can do. If there was something to be done, _trust me_, Dean would be doing it."

"Yeah, Feathers warned me about that. About Dean being a _little_ protective of you. From what he said, I'm kinda surprised Dean didn't follow me over here."

"He's turned around on the picnic bench, watching us." Sam said, immediately and without needing to look back. And then he thought that maybe _that_ came out a little too fast and a little too adamantly. John only glanced back over his shoulder and smiled.

"So, I better watch myself, I guess."

All Sam could muster was a shrug and a tired, "I don't know."

Then there was a lull in the conversation, while Sam stared at his hand and John stared out at the slow moving water.

"You should just go back and talk to Dean." Sam said after a while. He didn't look at John. "You've got more in common with him, the car and – things." Sam's brain shut down on thinking of everything Dean and John would have in common. "You should go talk to him."

"I want to talk to _you_."

Those were words Dad had said to Sam hundreds of times in his life, sometimes in anger, sometimes in interest, sometimes – not enough times – in the gentle tone Dad-as-John had just used. Sam wished he had some idea what to talk about because he really wanted to talk to him.

"I don't think we really have anything to talk about. We don't – we didn't- we argued a lot when I was younger."

"What did we argue about?"

"About my going to college."

John looked surprised.

"Didn't you want to go?" He asked, and that surprised Sam. He expected this-Dad to be as pissed at the idea as real-Dad.

"I did." He said. He decided to avoid the truth. "I _did_ want to go." Avoid the _whole_ truth anyway. "Being on my own for the first time in my life, so far away from you guys, it was – it was scary knowing you'd be so far away."

"Hey, you could go to the _moon_ and we'd still be nearby. Distance has nothing to do with it." John said. "So – you _did_ end up going, didn't you?"

"Yeah, uh – yeah. Actually, I went to Stanford."

"Wow." John said and grinned. "_Wow."_

Sam couldn't help grinning too.

"Full ride, too. You know? Tuition, books, room and board."

"Wow." John said again, grinning even more if that was possible. "That's _amazing_, that's _great_. So – I guess you got over the being scared part, hunh?"

"Yeah. I got used to it . And - you came out to check on me a lot."

"Of course we did." John agreed immediately. "Just because you're some hot shot big time college student, doesn't mean you're not still our little boy. Of course we're gonna keep an eye on you."

Sam felt heat rise to his face and hoped – _really_ hoped – he wasn't blushing.

"So – what did you take at Stanford? Graduated at the top of your class, I bet." John said, still grinning with pride. And Sam was so amazed and happy that this-Dad was so proud and happy for him that for a minute he almost forgot.

But he never forgot for very long.

"I – uh – I didn't graduate. I didn't – it – um -." Sam squeezed his eyes shut and pushed his thumb into his palm as hard as he could. The present was real and the immediate was _not_ real and the past was all too real.

"What happened?" John asked, and he was still so gentle that Sam couldn't answer him. "Sam? Can you tell me what happened?"

"_She died."_ Sam said. He knew John wouldn't know what he was talking about but it was the first image that came to his memory. "I met a girl. And we moved in together and then – and then –" Sam opened his eyes but couldn't look at John. He felt like he couldn't take a deep enough breath. "We talked about getting married, I was saving up for a ring and then –"

Sam stopped talking. He didn't know why he was bothering telling all this to John-not-Dad. He'd have no frame of reference for any of it. He was still young and happy and hopeful, the complete opposite Sam.

"What happened?" John asked.

"It doesn't matter. Just – she died. There was a fire in our apartment and she died. And I couldn't – it was my senior year but I just couldn't keep going. I couldn't stay there and I didn't graduate."

And the memory of it all was too painful for Sam to worry or wonder if this-Dad would be disappointed in him.

"You came home, didn't you? You came home like you were supposed to."

Sam looked at John after that. He thought of those days and weeks and years after losing Jess, he thought of Dean and the Impala and finally realizing that Dad did love him.

"Yeah, yeah, I went home. That's the only thing that kept me from totally losing it. Going home."

John put his hand on Sam's back.

"I'm sorry about your girl." He said, quietly, still gentle. "She must've been a really special girl."

"She was." Sam said, and for a brief moment he could feel Jess near him, hear her laugh, feel her soft hair and soft skin and unending love. Then the memory of Jess was shattered and replaced with a leering hallucination and Sam dug his thumb into his hand hard.

"What is it? What's going on with your hand?" John asked, his tone bordering on demanding. "Sam? Talk to me, tell me what's going on."

"Nothing, it's nothing." Sam breathed out as the hallucination fuzzed and shivered back out of existence.

"All right, that's it." John said. He reached over and took hold of Sam's left hand.

"No, don't – it's nothing – you don't -." Sam tried but John didn't pay any attention. He turned Sam's hand over and saw the huge scar .

"What the hell happened? How did you get this?"

Sam tried to not pay attention to the feel of John's hands on his own, the strong but careful grip, the different but familiar calluses.

The concern. Maybe even affection.

"I just – I fell. I cut it open on some broken glass. It looks worse than it is."

"I think it's _exactly_ as bad as it looks." John said. "Who stitched this up? _Andre the Giant_?"

"Uh – no. Um – Dean. Dean stitched it up for me."

"Dean? Why not a hospital? Why did Dean stitch it up?"

"Because – I wouldn't have let anybody else do it."

John didn't let go of Sam's hand, but he looked up at him.

"This had something to do with your 'amnesia', didn't it?"

"No – well…" Sam considered it. He'd fallen because his wall had fallen, not because of an hallucination. But maybe that was close enough. "Yeah, sort of."

"And it still hurts? You're holding your hand like that, it still hurts?"

Sam pulled his hand back and tucked it between his knees.

"You should go talk to Dean. He'll want to talk to you. He's gonna want you to tell him he's taking good care of the car."

"And I will – as soon as I know that you're okay."

Sam shook his head – even under _these_ circumstances, he and Dad couldn't agree.

"You know me, Sam. Am I going away before I get an answer out of you?"

"You _don't_ know me. You don't know how long I can go without _giving_ an answer."

And if this-Dad had been the Dad that Sam knew, there would've been a glare, a snarl, or even just the dull victory of Dad walking away. _This-_Dad had an entirely different reaction. He pulled out the Winchester big guns.

"Sam – _please_. I need to know you're okay."

So Sam pulled his hand from between his knees and showed the scarred palm to John again.

"It's not amnesia, not anymore. It's more like PTSD – or – or shell shock." Sam didn't know when PTSD became part of everyday language and if John would know what it meant. "I blank out and see things that aren't there and the only way I can keep it back, is pressing the scar. Pushing on it, sometimes."

"How does _that_ help?"

"I was having a really bad episode a while back. Dean grabbed my hand to get me to focus on him and that brought me out of it." Like most of his answers to John, Sam gave this the edited version. "Ever since then - I mean - Dean was there when I cut it open, and he stitched it up and changed the bandages for me. When nothing else seems real, I know that Dean is real."

## ## ## ## ## ##


	5. Chapter 5

John hadn't even gotten all the way to Sam's tree when Dean turned around to keep an eye on the two of them. Young-Dad was maybe a lot more laid back than Old-Dad had been, but Sammy-post-hell was a lot more brittle and way more vulnerable than Sammy-post-puberty had ever, ever been.

So Dean kept an eye on them.

Not much happened, though. Talking. _Just_ talking. _Talking_ talking, not the Winchester incendiary bomb usual way of talking. And Dean started to relax.

Until he felt the ruffle of air behind him and heard Balthazar's annoyingly gleeful voice.

"And how _is_ the family reunion going?"

Dean rounded on him.

"What's going on with Sam?" He demanded.

Balthazar looked surprised.

"And what, pray tell, leads you to believe anything is going on with dear Little Sammy?"

"You said we're here to save a life. Well, Dad's gonna die no matter what we do, we know that. So's Mom. You're here talking to me, so that leaves Sam."

"It _could_ quite possibly be, couldn't it, that what happens here affects the tides of history in parts heretofore unknown?"

Dean wasn't impressed. He folded his arms and made sure his expression said so.

"_What. Is. Going. On. With. Sam?"_

Balthazar actually – momentarily - looked serious.

"Nothing is going on with Sam. There. _Are we happy?_"

"Then why are we here?" Dean demanded. "And save me the angelic crap, for once. I'm not in the mood."

"My, my. Aren't we the touchy one. All right then, I'll tell you. The reason I've summoned all three of you here, why you and your brother are interacting with a much younger version of your father, why your young father is interacting with his adult sons, why you are all here in this lovely garden spot in the back-end of this withered burg in the middle of nowhere is because – _oops, must dash_."

And he was gone.

"_Dammit!"_

"Dean, language."

The voice behind him sounded so much like young Dad, _Dad_ Dad, that Dean felt an actual pain stab up into his chest. He took a minute to relax his expression before he turned toward John walking back to the picnic area. Sam was still at the bottom of the tree.

"He deserved it."

John immediately looked worried.

"Feathers? Was he here?"

"Yeah, he flew in for a pointless conversation. _Another_ pointless conversation. How's Sammy? How was your talk?"

John gave a glance back.

"He's one stubborn kid, isn't he?"

"You have no idea." Dean agreed. "But it's kept him going through things that would've destroyed anyone else."

John nodded and smiled, then stared down at his feet a minute, hands shoved back into jacket pockets.

"So tell me – when do we die?"

"_Excuse me?"_

"Your Mom and me – when do we die?"

Dean didn't answer because – no way in hell was he answering that question.

"Dean?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Dean tried.

He got the '_stop shitting me'_ Dad look as John folded his arms.

"Sam was missing for a year and _you_ looked for him. No mention of your Mom or me looking for him, so we're either dead or we turned into heartless bastards. _And I'd rather be dead."_

Dean let out a sigh and gestured that John should have a seat at the picnic table with him again. John – _Dad_ – wasn't going to remember anyway, so there was probably no harm.

"Mom died – dies – when Sam was a baby. You die – died – when Sam was twenty three."

"What about you?" John asked.

"What _about_ me?" Dean asked back, confused. "_I'm_ not dead."

"I keep hearing about Sam. I want to hear about _you_."

Dean sighed another sigh.

"Mom died when I was four, nearly five. You died when I was nearly twenty eight."

"So – not that long ago."

Dean shrugged. "A few years."

"Seeing me, like this, must be hard on you."

"Yeah, it is." Dean still saw no reason to lie. He also saw no reason to tell John about the other times they'd met each other. "I wish you were still in my life, but – I'll take what I can get, for however long I can get it."

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Don't die." Dean offered, trying to be lighthearted.

"How do I die? How does your Mom die?"

"Um – Mom died trying to save Sam, and you died saving me."

"From what? What were we saving you from?"

"You know – look." Dean was finding this hard to talk about. "I just – I don't -."

John seemed to understand.

"I'm sorry. I forgot that it might be – kind of recent for you. I'm sorry. C'mon, show me the car."

* * *

Sam stayed at the bottom of the tree, staring at the scar, still feeling John's hands on his own. And then Balthazar was suddenly in front of him.

"My, my, all the effort I've put into this little assignation and here you are -."

That was as far as he got and Sam was on his feet and in Balthazar's face.

"_What's going on with Dean_?" He demanded.

The angel was immediately exasperated.

"_Oh my dear God and Father in Heaven_." He exclaimed. "Dozens of universes, billions of stars, thousands of planets, worlds beyond your imagining, and out of it all, _the Winchesters'_ is the only world which revolves around something _other than the sun_."

"_Cut the crap._ Who are we here to save?"

Balthazar gave Sam an expression of feigned concern.

"Perhaps I'm not at liberty to say."

"And _perhaps_ I have the angel killing knife in my back pocket." Sam shot back.

Balthazar pursed his lips in aggravation.

"Yes, that would not surprise me in the least. Of course, if you kill me, you'll be stuck here."

Sam took a step forward.

"I'll take my chances."

"Yes, you would, wouldn't you?" Balthazar asked. "All right, I'll tell you what I told your brother not a moment ago – " He paused just a moment. "_Nothing._" And then he was gone.

"_Dammit!" _

To be continued


End file.
